Dragon's Tongue (The Demon Bound) (41 page)

Shona grinned at him in response.

“So now what?” Alaric asked.

“Well, first off, we go back into the keep by mortal means, and gather food and gear. Then we come back here by the same means. You summon that demon of yours, and we’ll be on our way. Time to get back on Tane’s trail. We’d best move quickly, though. I sense Lorymer has gone back to Dun Gealach to fetch a host of mageborn guards, and it won’t be long before Turlough realizes he has been deceived.”

The women were already getting to their feet. Alaric looked down, then up. As far as he could tell, there existed no means of getting off the ledge.

“Uh, when you said mortal means, just what did you have in mind?” Alaric asked. Visions of dangling from the cliff face by his fingers were not pleasant.

“Walking,” Fenelon said.

Shona helped Alaric to rise when his trembling legs proved a little awkward for the task.

“Up the cliff?” Alaric asked.

“Oh, no, we’ll take the stairs,” Fenelon said.

“Stairs?” Alaric said, and as he spoke, Fenelon pressed a rock and pulled a shrub beside it.

The face of the cliff glided inward without a sound. Alaric would have toppled over the edge in surprise had Shona not kept his arm entangled in her firm grasp.

“Old Ones,” Fenelon said. “They left a lot of wonderful things.”

Inside, Alaric saw a tunnel. Barely visible with mage sight because of the outside glare, he spied a set of stairs.

“No light spells,” Fenelon said. “No magic at all for now. Don’t want to leave any obvious traces.”

“Then how will we see?” Alaric asked, peering into the gloom with a hint of unease.

“Flint and tinder, of course,” Fenelon said, producing a torch and the flint and steel to light it from a corner near the door. “Always be prepared, Alaric. A mageborn can never be unprepared for anything, and that includes not using magic.”

Within moments, Fenelon had the torch lit and was leading them up the stairs.

FORTY TWO

Vagner sat in the branches of an oak tree and glowered at the keep. He sensed Alaric’s unease then his sudden fright, and the demon came close to launching himself from his perch and going to the little master’s rescue. But Alaric had been specific about Vagner staying hidden so long as the High Mage of Dun Gealach was in the keep. For that reason alone, Vagner held his place. He could sense the depth of power in the High Mage, and while it was not quite as strong as that in the Greenfyn, it wore the heat of rage and the confidence of one possessed of great experience.

Such skills made the demon downright uneasy. The High Mage’s essence was in some of the demon wards at Dun Gealach too. That he had no tolerance for Vagner’s kind was obvious in his own essence. And Vagner could not help but wonder which of his kind had upset the High Mage.

But then magic flared, and Vagner nearly fell from his perch in surprise. Filled with anxiety, the demon did launch himself. The little master was in danger, and the other inside him was calling to the demon for assistance.

Then the call stopped as abruptly as it began. Vagner soared skyward, unable to determine where it had gone, or why. It was as though Alaric had stepped into some sort of void.

Gate spell,
the demon thought. He sensed several now. But which one had Alaric taken? The demon had no idea, and would likely have gone the wrong way had he not suddenly sensed Alaric’s essence again. It was somewhere below the keep, and the earlier fear had vanished in favor of frustration.

With a sigh, the demon in owl form settled once more into the branches of a tall pine tree.
What now?
Vagner wondered. The summoning had ceased. He was no longer required? Or perhaps the other who had called simply no longer perceived an immediate threat to his host. Vagner frowned. To go to the little master now was tempting.

He sensed movement next. The powerful essence of the High Mage had vanished from the keep, along with his assistant. And Alaric seemed to be moving under the keep now. The demon frowned and began to preen, keeping some awareness on the youthful aura as it wove its way around under the earth and headed back for the main keep. There was a new anxiety present now. Close and uncomfortable images came to the demon, a sense of suffocating…

The little master was afraid.

~

Torchlight was not so reassuring in this close dark. Alaric tried to stay focused on the light, but his palms sweated and his heart thundered. Oh, Horns. This passage was too narrow.

The stairs had risen only a short ways before it turned right and rose again. After that, it had leveled into this tiny passage hewn out of solid stone. Alaric could touch both walls by merely extending his elbows.
Too close,
he thought.
Too close.
Almost as close as the coffin of darkness of the trunk in which he had ridden as prisoner of Tane.

Don’t think about that,
he scolded and looked at the light. Fenelon held the torch in front of him, and since he was slightly broader through the shoulders, not as much of it as Alaric like provided visible comfort. A torch to the back of this party would have been nice. Etienne and Shona followed directly behind Fenelon, adding to the depth of shadows. Alaric had been polite and allowed them to go first, but it occurred to him that either of these women would have made a better rear guard just now than he could.

He put a hand out and steadied himself against the wall when he stumbled a bit. The surface was slick with moisture, and so cold, it made Alaric shiver. He must have made a noise, because Shona stopped and looked back.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Alaric blinked.
Oh, horns…
“I’m…fine,” he said. “I just stumbled like a clumsy oaf. I’m not very good at maneuvering in caves.” His words sounded weak and watery.

Shona merely stretched her hand towards him and smiled. “Here, I’ll help you,” she said. “It’s a wonder you can manage, considering you haven’t been out of bed for long…”

At first, Alaric hesitated, not sure why. But then, the need to touch warmth in this stygian cold drove him to accept the offer. She took his hand firmly and tugged him along like she would a reluctant child whoonly needed gentle coaxing. Did she know how much he abhorred small spaces? How they drove him to distress? Could she sense fear in his aura? Or feel it in his trembling hand?

She said nothing of the sort. Merely kept hold of his hand behind her and continued on. His anxiety lessened somewhat as he concentrated on the touch.

At length, they reached another flight of stairs. A turn. Another passage. Two junctions later, Fenelon halted before a dead end. Alaric bit his lip. Horns. There was no visible way through. His heart quickened.

Not true, however. Fenelon pushed a block of stone, and it shifted and swung aside, revealing the back corner of a storage cellar. Even in the limited light of the torch, it looked far more spacious and inviting. The thunder of Alaric’s heart eased. They crossed this chamber to a door which opened into cellar stairs, which were much like the stairs above in the keep. Alaric could see a door at the top. It was all he could do to keep from racing past the others to reach it. He was relieved to find it opened to reveal the lower, familiar corridors of Eldon Keep and the kitchen area.

“Go gather what you need for travel and come back this way,” Fenelon said. “Oh, and make sure what you bring is your warmest stuff. Etienne, I will need my white fur cloak and a small change of winter clothes, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly,” she said and started for the nearest stairs. Fenelon headed over to speak with the cook who worked on as though having the master of the keep and his companions come popping out of her cellar was as natural as sunshine.

Alaric glanced at the secret door. They would be coming back…and this time, he would insist on his own torch.

~

Vagner felt the summons this time. It was not filled with unease or frantic with fear. Just a simple call for him to come to Alaric. The demon launched from the tree and flew towards the source.

The mageborn all stood on a narrow ledge and wore clothes more suited to chillier climes. Each one carried a pack. The little master held out his arm as an obliging perch, so Vagner landed there, shuffling back and forth to keep his balance.

“Hey, not so tight,” Alaric said and winced.

“Sorry,” Vagner said, lightening the grasp of his talons.

“All right,” Fenelon said. “I can get us as far north as Kellerscroft in Elenthorn.”

“What’s in Kellerscroft?” Etienne asked.

“A cousin who won’t ask questions and won’t give us away,” Fenelon said. “From his place, we’ll let the demon scry north and see if it can find Tane.”

Vagner tried not to frown, then realized owls always seemed to be frowning, and likely, the expression would go unnoticed.

“Once the demon finds Tane, we’ll gate as close as we can without being detected.”

“How are you planning to do that?” Alaric asked. “If a mage needs to know where he is going before he gets there…”

“My guess is Tane is looking for the Shadow Vale on that map, and Ronan will have an idea as to where we need to go.”

Alaric looked a little perturbed. Vagner felt the “other” chuckle silently within the little master and whisper,
“As if I would tell him…”

“What if Ronan won’t tell you?” Alaric ventured.

“He’ll have to tell you,” Fenelon said. “If he really is part of you, he can no more hide the truth from you than you can from him…”

“He can always hide behind that wall he built in my head like he did before,” Alaric said.

“In which case, we’ll have to depend on your pet demon,” Fenelon said. “And if Ronan won’t help us, I’ll teach you how to lock him away in your own mind so he never bothers you again.”

“You can do that?” Alaric said. Vagner sense the “other” grow restless with unease at his young host’s enthusiasm.

“It’s your body, mind and soul, Alaric,” Fenelon said. “Ronan can borrow, but he can never truly own your flesh unless you have given it to him willingly. Therefore, he does not command you unless your will is weak and he knows an old spell that gives him the power to usurp you.”

Alaric looked thoughtful. Clearly having that sort of mastery appealed to him.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Fenelon said. “Is every one ready?”

“Ayes” answered Fenelon all around.

“Then let’s go…” The Greenfyn mageborn gestured, drawing elements to him, as he called his gate spell into being.

FORTY THREE

Kellerscroft sat in the shadows of the borderlands of Carn Dubh in the northernmost corner of Elenthorn. There, a black stone keep held court atop a tor of solid rock, and about it ranged a village of huts composed mostly of the same material. The village itself was also built into the sides of the tor, and the whole lower area was surrounded by a wall of stone. It looked strange, this single mound of black rock rising from the middle of rolling green moors and scrub forest.

“Mountain goats must live here,” Alaric commented as they approached. He and the others clutched their cloaks against the bracing wind that cut across the open plains and around the tor.

“It’s the only way they can deal with Haxon raiders,” Fenelon said. “When you live this close to the Mountainous Range, you have to be clever and well fortified to survive.”

Alaric nodded. Farms and crops had been terraced on the tor. He wondered how they kept their soil from blowing away.

“So where does this cousin of yours live?” Alaric asked. He felt weary just now. As soon as they were settled he would ask Etienne to fix him a cup of tea using the herbs Brother Storne left in her care.

“Up in the keep,” Fenelon said. “He’s the Lord Protector of this realm.”

“Wonderful,” Alaric muttered. “We’ve got a long climb ahead of us, then.”

“No,” Fenelon said. He closed his eyes, and Alaric felt the buzz of power as Fenelon touched the ley lines. After a moment, Fenelon opened his eyes. “Now, we can gate to the keep,” he said, and with that, he conjured the spell once more.

The rift opened to reveal a courtyard where the harsh wind seemed less prevalent. Fenelon gestured them past. Etienne took the lead with Shona at her side. Alaric followed, still carrying Vagner who flapped owl wings and looked like a happy raptor. Fenelon took up the rear and quickly closed the gate.

The courtyard stood deserted. “Quaint,” Etienne said. “So where is the welcoming party?”

“Halloo!” a voice shouted from above.

Alaric looked up at the corner tower. One of the narrow windows had grown an arm that waved.

“Come on up,” the owner shouted, his face hidden in the slit. “Door’s open.”

Fenelon waved back and started into the keep. He took the lead, clambering cheerfully up the stairs, forcing Alaric and the others to practically run to keep up with his stride. With great enthusiasm, Fenelon threw open the tower door…and stopped in his tracks.

Not one, but two people stood in the chamber. The first was a short, stubby cherub of an older man. At a glance, Alaric realized why all the man could stick through the window was one arm, and the opening was but a quarter of his girth.

It was the second man who had Fenelon’s attention. He was tall, and wore his long white hair pulled back in a single braid. A trim white beard and mustache decorated his jaw and upper lip. Over crisp blue eyes, his faded reddish brows drew close.

“Father?” Fenelon said, recovering from his initial surprise. “What in the name of Cernunnos are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Gareth Greenfyn said.

“I came to seek Cousin Maelwyn’s hospitality for a few days,” Fenelon said. “So what’s your excuse?”

“I came because I got an urgent message from Turlough Greenfyn, as did every mage in the length and breadth of Ard-Taebh, telling me you had gone renegade and were harboring an evil fugitive mage with a demon familiar.” His gaze slipped towards Alaric and the eyes crinkled with a faint hint of humor. “I take it Turlough meant you, lad?”

Alaric blushed.

Fenelon frowned. “That’s not true!”

Gareth merely looked back at Fenelon and said nothing.

“Well, not entirely true,” Fenelon added.

Horns,
Alaric thought.
Now what do we do?

“Very well,” Gareth said with a sigh. “Let us hear your side of this story, my wayward son.” With a frown, Fenelon opened his mouth to begin. “Oh, and do me the favor of not wasting your time with the embellishments you’re so fond of,” Gareth added. “Just stick to the necessary parts of the tale, if you don’t mind.”

“As you wish, father,” Fenelon said in such a dry manner, Alaric had to bite his tongue to stave off laughter.

~

Alaric felt like an ox on an auction block. Cousin Maelwyn sent for refreshments and sat smiling throughout Fenelon’s tale. Gareth Greenfyn took a more serious interest in the whole affair. His face remained a stoic mask from beginning to end, and occasionally those quiet glances would put their intent blue stare on Alaric.

“So there you have it,” Fenelon said, swirling a wine goblet gently in one hand and watching the whorl in the liquid. “With Alaric pretty much being our only hope of finding Tane Doran, I couldn’t very well let Uncle Turlough run off and execute him without good cause.”

Gareth leaned over from his chair and took Alaric’s right hand, studying the mark with an intensity that reminded Alaric of Fenelon. Gareth released it and looked at Alaric’s left hand, and is eyes narrowed in thought before the old mageborn touched Alaric’s forehead. A warm tingle spread. Alaric stiffened, for it felt too much like a gentle version of what Tane had done to him.
Horns!

“Relax, lad,” Gareth said, and one corner of his mouth tugged into a good-natured smile. “I just want to see the damaged Tane and Ronan have done.”

Alaric swallowed his unease. The warmth slipped in and out in a moment. Gareth let go and leaned back.

“You’re a brave young man,” Gareth said. “If Tane had done this to one of mine, there wouldn’t be a corner of the world in which he could hide.”

“Then you believe me when I tell you I had no choice but to bond with Vagner.”

“Have no fear, lad,” Gareth said with a nod. “Granted, we still have a bit of a problem here. The laws by which we mageborn live these days by are rather plain as to what we do with those who consort with demons.”

Alaric paled.

“On the other hand, as my son so aptly points out, you are rather important just now. Tane Doran is a much bigger problem in my own opinion, one that must not be allowed to escape justice. His kind of vermin is much worse than a demon lover any day.”

Alaric sighed. “Then on that, we agree, sir,” he said.

Gareth’s attention turned to the demon once more. “A fine looking form you chose for him. I’ve always been rather partial to owls.”

“Why, thank you,” Vagner said and puffed his feathers.

“If it wasn’t for the demon stink of his essence sitting on my tongue like bile, I suspect he would make a fine familiar,” Gareth added with a grin.

Vagner tightened his claws on the chair back as a sign of his disapproval.

“Alas, it’s apparently against the laws…” Alaric managed a twitch of a smile.

“Aye, well, not all our laws seem fair to some,” Gareth said. “And not all demons are bad. Some can be quite useful. Unfortunately, some of them have exceedingly large appetites, and bloodmages have long put them to ill use, giving the art of demon mastery a bad reputation. There was a time when the Old Ones were thought to have used demons, mostly the elemental and more ancient ones.” His eyes narrowed again and though some thought had disturbed him.

“And look at what they accomplished,” Fenelon said with a smile. “Total destruction of themselves and their world.”

“Not total,” Gareth said. “Your grandfather found evidence of Hidden Folk still living within isolated pockets of the Ranges.”

“Hidden folk?” Alaric said.

“They are thought to be similar to the Old Ones,” Etienne quickly supplied. “Ancient Haxons called them Aelfar. However, they were not so friendly towards mortals and stayed hidden from the eyes of men…unlike Dvergar, who were also called Stone Folk and considered men their friends as long as ale was as plenty as gold.”

Alaric raised his eyebrows in wonder. Hidden Folk, Old Ones and Stone Folk…Just how many old races were there before the Great Cataclysm?

“Father,” Fenelon said, looking thoughtful. “All this folklore aside, who do you think would be most knowledgable in the matter of finding ways to break Alaric’s bond with the demon without hurting him?”

Gareth’s brows slid together as he glanced at Alaric. “Do you want to do it now?”

“Well, no,” Alaric said. “Not right now, anyway.”

“Why not? It would end Turlough’s excuse to persecute you.”

“I know, but Vagner is also stilled bonded to Tane,” Alaric said. “As long as he is attached to me, Vagner may be able to help us find Tane and I may be able to free Vagner from Tane as well.”

Gareth nodded. “Quite right,” he said. “But when you are ready to be rid of the beast, I might be able to assist you. My grandfather has that knowledge. I’ll check his old journals. I know where he keeps them.”

“Your grandfather is still alive?” Alaric said.

“Aye, as is my great grandfather who is Turlough’s younger brother.”

“And how old is Turlough?”

“Too old,” Fenelon quipped. “Which is why his wits have withered.”

“You watch your mouth, my boy,” Gareth said. “I can still take a stick to you.”

“Now you know why I learned to cast spell gates so quick,” Fenelon said and grinned at Alaric.

“Now I know why you are like you are,” Alaric said.

“Flatterer,” Fenelon said.

Gareth looked from one to the other and rolled his eyes.